thursday august 22 2001    |    11:42 p.m.

well. that's what i get for whipping up all-purpose cover letters in a frenzy of accumulated sleep deprivation. i just applied for a "content-writing" position with a book publishing company seeking, as clearly stated in the ten-odd-word ad, an editor. of course i didn't notice the oversight until the fax was three-quarters of the way sent. a waste of paper, energy, and however much it takes to fax fort lauderdale.

i'm off to a damn good start this time around, wouldn't you say?

so the phrase "job search" is taking on a whole new set of meanings for me, at least one of which, to my partial dismay, is biblical. the book of job has nothing on my compilation of failed applications, lemme tell you.

(that was a joke. ha... ha.)

the best thing about the past two days, and hell, probably even the unadulterated-best thing about the past summer, was getting letters from julie. one yesterday (at which point i also sent out my novella-length first letter to her), and another today, complete with pictures. i could see everything she described through her words and i laughed to myself and teared up and chainsmoked through the second one, and when i was done reading i felt like i'd somehow been transported on a lightning visit to bulgaria and had hung out with her for a few hours. i miss her so much... you have no idea how fucking hard it is to have your best friend go off on a two-year leave of absence halfway across the world. but i think with the letters and the e-mails she's not going to give me much of a chance to miss her too terribly. whew. technology might be this and that and the other, but i wouldn't want it any other way. sorry.

suddenly i'm on an irrepressible rolling stones kick. i wish i could send ian some smoke signals or morse code to the sailboat (wonder where he is now?) just to shout-sing him a verse of "you can't always get what you want." he would be so proud.

to think: four years reduced to memories.

bad bad case of wanderlust. bad. the rolling stones, an old ny times travel article on the costa brava and southeastern france, jules' letters, fleeting memories of london, cabin fever if the cabin in question were of national proportions... oh i don't know i don't know. i don't want barnes & noble. i don't want anonymous ft lauderdale book publisher. i don't want phoning and filing. i want to go! i want to get on a plane and cross the ocean/s and not know the language/s and have very little money and just go.

but if you try sometimes
you'll find
you get what you need

encouraging or ominous? you decide.